There was a pause, and then he stepped forward and, holding out his hand, said: "Will you permit me?" He kissed her fingers courteously, and she blushed. "I have waited," he added, "for God to bring this to pass." She shook her head sadly, and her eyes sought his beseechingly, as though he should spare her; but perhaps he could not see that.
"You spoke of a great obstacle then; has it been removed?"
"It is still between us," she murmured.
"Is it likely ever to vanish?"
"I—I do not know."
"You can not tell me what it is?"
"Oh, you will not ask me," she pleaded.
He was silent a moment, then spoke. "Might I dare to hope, Barbara, that you still regard me with—" he hesitated.
The fires of a modest valour fluttered in her cheeks, and she pieced out his sentence: "With all my life's esteem." But she was a woman, and she added: "But I am not young now, and I am very poor."
"Barbara," he said; "I am not rich and I am old; but you, you have not changed; you are beautiful, as you always were."